by Rachel Aaron
“And that’s why it’ll work,” Julius said quickly, before Xian could start talking himself back down into guilt. “If you want it, it will happen. All we have to do is wait and—”
A loud crash cut him off. Seconds later, a green dragon, one of the watchers who’d been perched on top of the mountain since the Golden Emperor’s arrival, came hurtling down past the open balcony with a jut of broken rock from the mountain’s peak still clutched in his claws. He righted himself quickly, but not before his snaking body crashed into the half-moon jut of stone that formed the balcony’s landing, snapping it clean off.
The crack echoed through the desert. Outside, the dragon grabbed the broken edge of the balcony and yanked himself back up, babbling what were clearly apologies and explanations in Chinese to his emperor. Xian dismissed the whole thing with a wave of his hand, sending the embarrassed dragon scrambling back up the mountain to his post.
“Did he slip?” Julius asked when he was gone.
“Ping doesn’t slip,” the emperor said. “The rock he was perching on broke beneath him.” And from his pained expression, Xian knew why. “We’ll repair the damage, of course. I just don’t understand why it happened. I’m actually calmer now than I’ve felt all day. I don’t know why my luck is still intent on breaking your mountain.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Julius said, breaking into a smile. “Look.”
He pointed at the balcony’s cracked edge. The falling dragon’s impact had broken the jutting slab neatly in two. But even a clean break puts pressure on the remaining stone. Though it hadn’t been hit directly, the surviving half of the broken balcony was still riddled with cracks, some of which were already crumbling. The biggest crack by far was right in the middle, a massive split that was getting wider by the second, and lying across it like a bridge over a canyon was Chelsie’s sword.
If Julius had had any lingering doubts this was the Qilin’s luck at work, what happened next would have buried them. The moment the emperor turned to look, the rock beneath Chelsie’s discarded Fang gave way, the cracked stone crumbling dramatically from both sides to drop the sword into the desert below. It had just started to fall when Fredrick darted forward, sprinting across the throne room just in time to snatch the sword to safety.
He jumped back the moment he had it, leaping off the damaged balcony seconds before the rest of it collapsed, the broken stones clattering down the mountain. Cringing at the near miss, Fredrick palmed Chelsie’s sword and backed away. He’d just gotten both feet back on the solid ground of the throne room floor when he looked back to see everyone staring at him.
“What?” he said defensively, clutching his mother’s unsheathed sword to his chest. “It’s an irreplaceable heirloom. I didn’t want it to fall.”
“Forget falling,” Julius said with a grin. “Fredrick, you’re holding a Fang of the Heartstriker!”
“So?” he said. “I’ve held it for Chelsie several times when she was injured.”
Julius stared at him in confusion. “You mean it never bit you?”
“No,” Fredrick said, looking nervously at the weapon in his hands. “Should it have?”
“Apparently not,” Julius said happily, turning back to the emperor. “I know how we’re getting to the DFZ.”
Fredrick’s face grew horrified as he realized what Julius meant. “No.”
“Fredrick—”
“No,” he said again, throwing the sword to the floor at his feet. “Absolutely not. I am not a Fang of the Heartstriker. I refuse.”
“But it’s already done,” Julius pointed out. “The Quetzalcoatl’s Fangs bite every hand except the one meant to hold them. If Chelsie’s Fang hasn’t bitten you, that means her sword’s already accepted you.”
“Well, it can find someone else,” Fredrick growled, carefully avoiding eye contact with the Qilin, who was watching the whole thing with rapt interest. “I thought I’d made it clear I want nothing more to do with this family.”
“But it’s your family, too,” Julius said. “Like it or not, Heartstriker blood runs in your veins, and that sword was made to protect it.” He pointed at Chelsie’s Fang. “That’s the Defender’s Fang, the blade that guards the clan. Bethesda made Chelsie use it in all the wrong ways for centuries. Even so, it never bit her hand, because no matter what horrors our mother made her do, Chelsie’s goal was always to protect us. That must be why it’s never bitten you either, because deep down, you and Chelsie are the same.”
“But I’m not like her,” Fredrick said frantically. “She’s the deadliest dragon in the clan. I don’t even know how to hold a sword properly. Until you unsealed us, I was forbidden from touching a weapon unless I was carrying it for someone else.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Julius said. “As I learned from my own sword, Fangs don’t care about your experience. They care about your intent. Your character, not your skills, and in that, you’re Chelsie’s logical successor. Just like her, you’ve always done whatever it took to keep your family safe, even when the only way you could do that was by helping me. You’re both protectors, and the Fang respects that, because it never belonged to Bethesda. It’s a product of the Quetzalcoatl’s magic, just like mine. That’s why she could never give Fangs out to her favorites, because they weren’t hers to give. The swords choose the hand that holds them, and that one’s chosen you.”
“But I can’t use it!” Fredrick cried. “I…I might have tried once, and nothing happened.”
“Because it was still serving Chelsie,” Julius said confidently, nodding at the weapon on the floor. “Try it again. I bet you’ll be surprised.”
Fredrick blew out an angry plume of smoke. But though he clearly wanted nothing more to do with anything Heartstriker, his eyes kept going back to his mother’s sword.
“What does it do?” the Qilin asked curiously, crouching down to peer at the bone-colored sword that curved like a tooth. “I’d heard Bethesda’s Shade had a special weapon, but I never found out what it did.”
“Normal sword stuff, mostly,” Julius said with a shrug. “But it can also teleport the wielder plus anyone they touch to any Heartstriker in the clan, no matter where they are.”
“Then why aren’t we using it?” the emperor said, shooting back to his feet. “That’s our answer.”
“Because if I accept it, I’ll be tied to this clan forever,” Fredrick growled. “And I don’t want that.”
“But you’re already tied to us,” Julius said gently. “I know Heartstriker hasn’t been kind to you, and you have every right to hate us, but this is more than just our way to Chelsie. I think that you getting this sword is a stroke of good fortune for everyone. Wielding a Fang of the Heartstriker automatically makes you one of the most influential dragons in our clan. It gives you a vote on the Fang’s seat of the Council, and when I step down in five years, you’ll have my vote to replace me, and probably all the other Fangs’ as well. If you take them, that would make you, an F, one of the three members of the Heartstriker Council.”
“That won’t happen,” Fredrick said.
“It absolutely will,” Julius said, smiling wider. “Think of it, Fredrick. You’d be a clan head! I know that doesn’t make up for the last six hundred years, but as part of the Council, you’ll have the power to change everything. You can help make a clan where what happened to you and your siblings can never, ever happen again. At the very least, that Fang gives you the power to help Chelsie, who never hesitated to help you.”
Fredrick growled low in his throat. “For a dragon who claims not to like debts, you certainly know how to leverage them,” he said bitterly. But angry as he clearly was, he still reached down, wrapping his hand around the Fang’s hilt.
Julius didn’t bother hiding his relieved breath as the F picked it up. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Fredrick growled, hefting the sword distastefully. “I owe you our freedom, but even that debt doesn’t go this far. I thought nothing did, but apparently I meant it when I s
aid I’d do anything for Chelsie.” He shook his head again before turning back to Julius. “You’d better grab your own sword.”
Julius nodded and ran to the door to what had been his mother’s rooms, startling several servants as he raced down the hallway, grabbed his Fang, which was still right where he’d left it leaning against the wall by the sitting room door, and raced back. By the time he got back to the throne room, Fredrick was looking grimmer than ever.
“I hope your luck is running hot,” the F said as he held out his arm to the emperor.
“I’m still not sure what just happened,” the Qilin replied, shooting a questioning glance at Julius, who motioned for him to grab onto Fredrick. “But my luck appears to be going fine, so far as I can tell.”
“Good,” Fredrick said, waiting for Julius to latch on as well before he raised the sword over their heads. “Because I’ve never done this before.”
The emperor’s golden eyes went wide, but whatever he was about to say was lost in the sharp bite of dragon magic—Fredrick’s, not Chelsie’s—as the Fang came down, slicing cleanly through the air in front of them. That was all Julius had time to see before Fredrick dragged them through the hole, following Chelsie’s scent into an empty city on the edge of bursting.
Chapter 12
“What do you mean I can’t go back?”
“I am sorry,” Shiro said. “But I do not control these things. As Merlin, the Heart of the World is yours to use and command. In this place, you are aware and stable, possibly for a very long time. But while you are safe in this sanctuary, traversing the Sea of Magic and the barrier that divides it from the physical world has always been the sole realm of the spirits. That is the practical side of why a partnership between human and Mortal Spirit is required of every Merlin. They control the roads.”
“I know that,” Marci snapped. “How do you think I got here? But if Ghost can fly me around, why can’t he fly me back out?”
“Because he is what he is,” the shikigami said helplessly. “Ask him yourself.”
Ghost flinched in her mind at that suggestion, but Marci was too panicked to read the warning. She’d already let the shikigami go and whirled to face her spirit, her body shaking in fury. “Why?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me I couldn’t go back?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I needed you, and I thought…I didn’t realize I was the only way.”
“But you brought those other ghosts back,” she argued. “Why not me?”
“Because they were different,” he said, looking at her at last. “I shepherd the forgotten, Marci, and that’s not you, nor should you want it to be. You’ve seen my true face. You know what I am. I’m the only one who remembers the souls I care for, and I can only bring them across the barrier in service of their final regrets. That’s why you had to die to come here, because this is the realm of the dead, but our original problem remains. I am the Spirit of the Forgotten Dead. Unless you are both dead and forgotten, you are not part of my domain, and since our domains are how spirits straddle both worlds, that means I can’t take you back, no matter how much I might wish to.”
Marci closed her eyes with a curse. She wanted to scream at him that he was wrong. That he’d promised her she could go back. She couldn’t even form the words, though, because they weren’t true. Ghost had only promised to get her to the Merlin Gate. He’d never said anything about going back. She was the one who’d jumped to that conclusion.
She’d assumed Merlins could go back because she’d assumed they had to be alive to do their job. Given what Shiro had just said, though, it was apparently perfectly possible to be both dead and a Merlin, because that’s what she was. Dead. Really dead. Really, really, doornail dead. Never-going-home dead. Never—
A sob ripped through her, sending Marci to the ground. A second gut-wrenching sob landed right on its heels, and then another and another until she was curled into a ball on the stone floor. It felt terminally unfair that this was happening when she didn’t have actual tears to cry or guts to wrench, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
I’m so sorry, the Empty Wind whispered in her mind, his voice desperate. I never meant for this to happen. I should have—
“It’s not your fault,” she said weakly. “I was dead either way. If anything, I’m grateful. You’re the reason I’m here and not still stuck in my death. It was stupid to get my hopes up. I should have been smarter, known better. I just always thought…”
She’d thought she could go home.
From the moment she’d first woken up in the dark, that had been her prize, her reward for all this suffering. She would become a Merlin, use her fantastic powers to fix whatever was wrong, and then pop back to life so she could go home to Julius. That was the hope that had given her the strength to keep going, and now it was gone. She was a Merlin with more power than she’d ever imagined, and it didn’t make a lick of difference. Even if everything worked out and she kept the magic, beat Algonquin, and forged a world where humans and spirits could live happily ever after, there was no happy ending for her. Whatever good she did, she was still just as dead as she’d been when she’d bled out in Julius’s arms, and selfish as it was, that sucked. She wasn’t ready to die. There was so much left she’d wanted to do, wanted to say. She hadn’t even gotten to tell Julius goodbye.
That was the final straw. With that one thought, all of Marci’s ability to keep it together fell apart, and so did she. She was painfully aware that everyone was watching her, but she couldn’t stop sobbing.
It was just so unfair. Hard work and sacrifice were supposed to be rewarded. The good guys were supposed to win, not end like this. Not with nothing. But just as she was sinking to the lowest circle of despair, Amelia flapped down to land on the ground beside her head.
“That’s enough of that,” she said, folding her wings tight against her small, snaking body.
Marci turned away. “If this is about bootstraps, Amelia, I don’t want to hear it.”
“As if I’d sink to something so trite,” the dragon said with a huff. “You’re free to have all the emotional breakdowns you want, but before you wallow too deeply, you really should take the time to explore your options.”
“Options?” Marci sat up, wiping her red eyes as she glared down at the little dragon. “What options do I have? I’m dead, and my spirit can’t take me back.”
“It’s true the Empty Wind can’t take you back because returning souls is outside of his jurisdiction,” she said. “But Ghost isn’t the only one here with you, is he?”
After having her hopes crushed so epically, getting them up again felt like lunacy, but Marci couldn’t help it. “You can take me back?”
Amelia’s grin grew painfully smug. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Do you really think I would die without a solid exit strategy?”
Marci clutched her aching chest. “Don’t do this to me, Amelia,” she said angrily. “Can you bring me back to life or not?”
The dragon shrugged. “When you’re playing with stakes this high, nothing’s a hundred percent, but I wouldn’t have gotten on this roller coaster with you if I didn’t think we both had a good chance of getting off again. Bob and I—”
“Bob?” Marci said, eyes wide. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Amelia said. “Whose plan do you think this was? If all I wanted was to get a look at the magical half of this plane, I could have hitched a ride inside any old human death, but I didn’t. We chose you specifically, because Bob foresaw that you and you alone could get me here. To the place where it all comes together.”
She turned to gaze hungrily out at the wild Sea of Magic, but Marci didn’t understand. “How did Bob foresee me? I’m not even a dragon. And what do you want with the Heart of the World? This is Merlin land. You can’t do anything here.”
“You don’t have to be a dragon to get swept up in a seer’s plot,” Amelia said smugly. “And Bob’s had his eye on you for a
long time. Who do you think posted the advertisement you answered the first night you got to the DFZ? It certainly wasn’t the little old lady being possessed by an angry newborn Mortal Spirit so he could feed her body to his legion of stray cats. Bob put it up because he’d foreseen that you would take the job, bind Ghost, and eventually team up with Julius.”
“You’re kidding,” Marci said. “I mean, that’s just ridiculous.”
“It is not,” Amelia said. “Giant chains of coincidence are how seers work, and my brother is a brilliant one. The moment he foresaw that a Mortal Spirit would rise early, Bob started maneuvering to make sure we had someone in position to catch him. Someone who would value the things we needed her to value, and who would take the risks we needed her to take.” The dragon smiled at her. “You.”
Marci still couldn’t believe it. Ghost looked equally shocked, though the others didn’t seem surprised at all.
“I knew you worked for dragons,” Shiro grumbled.
“Not on purpose!” Marci cried, staring at Amelia in horror. “So none of it was real?”
“It was all real,” Amelia said. “Bob pointed you at the pins, but you were the one who knocked them down. You fought all the fights and made all the hard decisions that got you to where you are, which is why my brother picked you out of all the other potential mages. He knew you had the ambition and the guts to get where we needed you to be. I did, too. That’s why I gambled my life on you. Because of all the humans who had the potential to walk through that gate and become the first Merlin, you were the only one who’d choose not to shut the magic off again.”
“Why did you even care?” Myron said, glowering. “Dragons make their own magic. You would have survived another drought just fine.”
“Surviving isn’t the same as thriving,” Amelia snapped, giving him a dirty look before turning back to Marci. “You’ve been to our original plane. You know our race’s tragedy better than any mortal and, sadly, most dragons. What you don’t know, though, is what we were before. Before we fled to this plane, the average lifespan of a dragon was thirteen thousand years. Thirteen thousand! Can you name a dragon even half that old today?”
